


Melt

by boys_in (kaleidosphere)



Series: FE Femslash February 2020 [3]
Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Angst, Enemies to Friends, F/F, Fluff, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:28:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22856275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaleidosphere/pseuds/boys_in
Summary: “Stop right there! I already know who you are, so you can’t run from me anymore!”-Day 3, Prompt: Freeze
Relationships: Fjorm/Laegjarn (Fire Emblem)
Series: FE Femslash February 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620010
Kudos: 21
Collections: FE Femslash February 2020





	Melt

She saw her at the start. One day, Fjorm was transported somewhere else, straight from the timeline she'd been living in up until that point. In her mind, she was sparring with her older brother, and her sisters observed the fight. There were rumors throughout the kingdom about flames and faraway villages burning, but there were no threats to the people of Niflheim quite yet. Although Gunnthrá's dreams and visions grew more hectic as of late, the dangers she foresaw had yet to transpire.

Then, when Fjorm raised her lance against Hríd, a beam of light appeared, as if from thin air, and engulfed her wholly. The entire world turned to dust before her very eyes, and a fleeting thought convinced her she had died.

Fjorm reappeared in a different place, somewhere called Askr, and the palace was unlike anything she'd ever seen before. Somehow, between the journey from here to there, she came to understand that she was _summoned,_ and her previous efforts meant nothing in lieu of her new goals. Still, it was very kind for the one known as The Summoner to try and explain things to her.

The royal siblings, Alfonse and Sharena, were also quite helpful, although they looked upon Fjorm with sad eyes. She couldn't understand why.

Only when she met another version of herself, the "original" version who had gone through hell and back, did she realize the situation. This was a place where multiple dimensions, timelines, and worlds collided. Fjorm had come from a peaceful time, before all the ice melted and was burned to ash, before she lost her older sister in the struggle against Múspell.

There was a woman named Laegjarn, and Fjorm immediately became interested in her. She learned that Laegjarn was the oldest daughter of Surtr—a king gone mad with hellfire and bloodlust. In another world, Surtr's flames reached Niflheim, and many people died as a result. There were back-and-forth skirmishes, but the Askran royalty of this timeline were able to quell the flames, and while Niflheim suffered, it was eventually saved.

No one told Fjorm the gory details, but she imagined that Princess Laegjarn of Múspell suffered a fate most terrible, at the end of it all.

And she was so beautiful, too. Fjorm first spotted her at the summoning circle, observing with other heroes as The Summoner tried their hand at recruiting another strong hero. Although, she wasn't the first Fjorm to be summoned—there were a couple of them in the past, both of who returned to their rightful dimensions before she could even witness more versions of herself—she was the first one to be summoned in quite a while. People welcomed her warmly, and it was a reception bright enough to distract from the fact that she was forced to leave her entire world behind her.

Somewhere out there, a Niflheim was in disarray as the second oldest daughter and third oldest child to the royal throne had disappeared, leaving not even a trace behind her. It saddened her to think of it in this way.

But why was Laegjarn there? Despite not knowing the full story, Fjorm knew that she would come to fight Laegjarn time and time again. They were princesses similar in disposition and desire, but forced to fight against one another as Surtr would have it no other way. In another time and place, they could've been the best of friends.

"This _is_ another time and place," Fjorm rationalized to herself. "So certainly, we could be friends this time around!"

Perhaps it was fate, or maybe it was coincidence, but Fjorm couldn't get Laegjarn out of her mind since the day she saw her. She had been skulking in the back of the room, behind a crowd of onlookers as The Summoner did their work, conjuring stones from a tablet and putting forth heroes from the stones. A bright, blue stone had been Fjorm's portal and means of getting here. She could only imagine how fiery red Laegjarn was.

Yet she never forgot the way Laegjarn stared at her as she materialized. Her arms were tucked neatly at her sides, her posture tall and stiff, and her eyes were narrowed—but not accusingly so. If anything, she seemed in minor disbelief that a Niflheim princess could appear, although certainly there were greater and grander heroes that came before her.

There was a rolling thunder across her eyes—lightning-fast glimmers of _regret_ and misunderstanding that came and went, leaving Fjorm breathless and ragged, wondering what kind of pain could form an expression so hurt, she felt torn just by seeing it.

Laegjarn sneaked out of the room shortly thereafter, but Fjorm hadn't forgotten about her. She asked around the castle, and learned that there was currently only one Laegjarn, as the "original" Laegjarn was long since dead, and other Laegjarns left as soon as they were summoned. The only Laegjarn that remained was the one Fjorm saw that day, and supposedly, she wouldn't tell people what timeline she had come from.

Was she a Laegjarn of the past, who didn't know of cruelty until her father's madness destroyed him? Was she a Laegjarn saved from the flames of death, moments before expiring but teleported at the last second? Was she a Laegjarn from in between, during times of hesitation, wondering if she'd live to see another day?

Or was she a different Laegjarn entirely, who could never associate herself with the Hall of Heroes and all the grandeur that came of it?

Only one thing was for sure: Fjorm had grown attached to Laegjarn, despite not talking to her directly. Maybe it was their fates which were intertwined, or maybe it was the forlorn look in her eyes when they first met. Either way, there was an inexplicable attraction, the way moths gathered to a flame. Or the way that birds fly south for the winter, magnetic storms and migratory patterns long-ingrained in their brains. Or the way that spring inevitably turns into summer, which inevitably turns into autumn, which inevitably turns into winter, which starts all over again.

There was something in the way she looked, and Fjorm couldn't deny it.

She had to make a move.

.

.

"Excuse me, Princess Laegjarn?"

"What is it?"

"I wanted to ask you something."

Laegjarn sighed. The reason she retreated to this isolated corner of the courtyard was to get _away_ from people, not be near them! Now she had to come up with a new hiding spot, since Fjorm found out her old one. Nevermind the stacks of books that laid untouched, with her current book being slammed shut with hesitant fingers. Laegjarn glanced up from her seat at the garden table, legs crossed and eyes narrowed. "Is it important?"

Was it important? Fjorm wasn't dressed differently for the occasion, wearing her usual outfit and armor, but the sunlight's reflection made her seem brighter, _lighter,_ and more casual, somehow. Laegjarn felt overdressed in comparison, but kept that comment to herself.

Fjorm muttered, "I, I suppose, in matters regarding war and ambushes, what I'm about to say isn't the _most_ important—"

"Then I'll hear none of it. Good day to you, Princess Fjorm." Laegjarn, in an impossibly masterful movement, swept all the books into her arms at once, and averted her gaze with dignity. She didn't even look upon Fjorm as she left, an act which fractured Fjorm's heart into infinitely many, tiny pieces.

She wasn't a child anymore, but rejection hurt the same as it always did. And how she wouldn't even _look_ her in the eyes spoke volumes about the underlying unpleasantness.

This went deeper than Fjorm anticipated.

She needed a new approach.

.

.

"It seems that you and I are paired together for this patrol around the castle," Fjorm said. She conveniently left out the part where she begged Commander Anna to switch up the assigned teams ahead of time, and it only cost her half of what it usually did. "Let's work well together, L—"

"I'm afraid I'm too busy for this," she insisted. "I'll have Helbindi take over my place, instead. Goodbye, Princess Fjorm."

"Wait, Laegjarn! Can't we talk about this?" Fjorm followed her hurried footsteps down the corridor, the absence of people amplifying her voice down the halls. "Why are you avoiding me?"

Laegjarn paused. For a moment, Fjorm felt hope in that she was reconsidering her actions, but that hope was quickly dashed as she turned around and _glared._ Her eyes were deep, blood-red, and full of nothing but contempt.

Fjorm withered as Laegjarn said, "The better question is _why_ are you persistent on following me? Clearly I do not wish to engage with you, but since you lack understanding, I'm going to tell you this, once and for all.

"Leave me alone."

.

.

"How was your day, Sister?" Laevatein's tone was overly formal, as always, but a rare smile graced her features. Laegjarn couldn't help but melt at the very sight of it. "Today, I did nothing but mundane tasks. It felt strange, yet invigorating."

"I'm glad to hear it," Laegjarn hummed. "You deserve nothing but the best."

"I'm undeserving of your praise," she insisted. "But, what about you? Askr is a strange place, isn't it? Did you—"

"I'm fine." She sighed deeply at her own impatience. "I mean, I'm better, now that I'm with you."

"Does that mean you were suffering before? Who hurt you?" Her face darkened. "I'll make them pay."

"No, it's nothing like that. I suppose I'm just being... _childish._ Selfish, perhaps."

"Sister, I—I do not have a good understanding of people. Father is surely to blame for that, and you and I are not even from the same timeline."

"Yes, we've established that long ago. Timeline or not, you are still Laevatein, and any Laevatein is my younger sister. It doesn't change how I feel about you." She frowned, breath growing ragged at what she anticipated to be an unpleasant outburst. "What are you getting at?"

"I mean to say that I'm imperfect in the sense that I could never properly comfort you, or play the part of a good younger sister. All I ask, though, is that you stay true to me. And I'll be true to you."

"Hmm, hmm. Well, same timeline or not, you've grown, Laevatein. I'm proud of you."

"Thank you. So, if I may, I want to tell you that you don't need to lie to me. What happened today, Laegjarn?" She set her sword down, a gesture made in utter seriousness. As hot as the Múspell blood flowing through their veins, both princesses were never unarmed, and never laid down their swords for anyone.

Not even Surtr.

Yet, here she was, younger sister bowing before the older one, fiery eyes so determined that for a moment, their roles reversed.

Or maybe their roles were never set in stone, to begin with.

Laegjarn almost gasped at the realization. Laevatein went on to say, "Is this about the ice princess?"

And Laegjarn could deny Fjorm all she wanted, but she could never deny her younger sister.

So she didn't.

.

.

Fjorm placed a hand over her chest. It was late at night, and most heroes were sleeping away. Only night owls and hourly patrols stayed up at this hour, and Fjorm was grateful for a quiet moment. She was dressed in her silk nightgown and felt slippers, so she traveled the hallways without a light, hoping she'd go unnoticed in the dark.

She found the room belonging to Laegjarn, and slipped a note underneath the doorway. For a few seconds, she lingered at the door, wondering if the other princess was awake yet. Then a scuttling noise echoed across the hallway, and Fjorm retreated back to her room in a hurry.

Out of her sight, a certain piece of paper was picked up from the ground.

.

.

_Dear Laegjarn,_

_I apologize for my behavior. I realize that my advances were unwarranted and strange. I normally do not act in such ways, but I could not deny the feelings I had when I first spotted you in the Summoning Circle. Regardless, that does not excuse my excessiveness, and so I am sorry to inconvenience you as I have been doing._

_I hope that someday, you will be able to confide in me as I might do with you. In other worlds, our fates are aligned. Although that does not mean we must align again in this world, what I truly mean to say—and what I have been trying to say this whole time, but failing most spectacularly— is that I would not mind in the slightest. You and I are both deserving of happy endings._

_Yours Truly,_

_Fjorm_

She scoffed at the letter, but didn't tear it up. Instead, she folded it back neatly into squares, and placed it into her pocket. "There are so many things wrong about this letter that I wouldn't even know where to begin," Laegjarn admitted to herself. "There are people who deserve a happier end, though.

"And I am not one of them."

.

.

"Stop right there! I already know who you are, so you can't run from me anymore!"

Laegjarn froze in place. She glanced over her shoulder to see Fjorm, looking determined and almost angry. Fjorm's eyes were ablaze, but even then, her typically iciness prevailed. Something in her skin and in her mouth felt flat, cold, and betrayed. It was a familiar feeling, and Laegjarn felt her willpower plummet by the second.

She mustered the strength to ask, "What do you want?"

"Laegjarn, I understand everything now. I come from a time long before we even met, so I had no idea—"

"And now, after talking to whoever you did, you suddenly understand everything?"

Fjorm winced, but she did not back down. "I wouldn't say that."

"Then what would you say?"

"That I know why'd you go so far to avoid me up until now."

She couldn't speak. There were plenty of sharp replies and dismissals she could summon in her place, but Fjorm had heard the worst of it already. And there was something in Laegjarn—some small, undeniable part of her—that wanted this to happen. A part that said there was no use _lying_ to herself, or Fjorm, any longer.

She huffed. "And what do you know, Princess Fjorm?"

"You tried to save me from the tragedy of knowing you," Fjorm insisted. "You tried to prevent it from happening, whatever happened to our 'originals.'"

"Whatever I tried, it's obvious I failed." Laegjarn squeezed her eyes shut, and saw the horrors that lived in the back of her eyelids: raging flames, an ax so tall it could dwarf her, deep red eyes lost in the haze of war and suffering, a girl's high-pitched screams, ice melting until the water itself evaporated and turned to _ash_ —

"I don't know what you've experienced from your world," Fjorm admitted. "But I know that we're _different_ from what everyone else has said about us. And if it's okay—if you would consider it—then I want us to be friends."

"Friends? Us? Do you truly think—"

"We all deserve happy endings," Fjorm insisted. She dared to step forward, and place her hand on Laegjarn's shoulder—instantly regretting it the moment Laegjarn flinched from the mere contact. When was the last time someone had reached out to her, kindly? When was the last time she faced someone without ulterior motives, or at least without the malignance that every other person with motives carried themselves with?

When was the last time anyone _cared_ about her? For so long, Laegjarn had been the caring one, the girl who carried too much on her shoulders, until she crashed and burned and wondered why her existence was so sorry. Sure, she hadn't met her demise like the "original" Laegjarn did, but her life wasn't so bright and colorful, either.

It was stagnant, unmoving, nearly _frozen_ in time.

How ill-fitting for a princess of fire.

"I'm not sure that I do. The things I've done, in this timeline or another, in this _world_ or another—everything I did was terrible, awful. Objectively, I am completely irredeemable."

"I beg to differ."

"I've stomached blood so many times that I no longer grow sick at the sight of it," Laegjarn reminded. "Your siblings, your family, my family and my people...we ruined each other. Don't tell me that I deserve to be saved after that."

"It's true what you say," Fjorm said. "We ruined each other."

Laegjarn tried not to deflate. "See? And that's why—"

"But we are not the same people as before. We are different from the story of fire and ice, who hurt each other past the point of reconciliation."

"I…"

"Can we at least attempt it, Laegjarn? To be friends, if nothing more?" Fjorm held out her hand, unguarded and free, in hopes that the fiery princess before her would take it in earnest.

Said princess hesitated, staring at the hand with a lost expression. She had gone so long without salvation, she never knew how to act in the face of forgiveness when it came. The things that a person named Laegjarn would do to a person named Fjorm were

dishonorable, underhanded, and sneaky. Cowardly, if the idea of submitting to a tyrant father was factored into it, as well.

Yet Laegjarn couldn't deny the pressure in her chest, squeezing her heart harder and harder until it was nothing. And normally, such pressure would cause her pain, anxiety, and all manner of dislikable things. But this time, it was different.

This time, Laegjarn reached out, and took Fjorm's hand in her own.

"Let's start over," Laegjarn agreed. She smiled the smallest of smiles.

The ice finally melted away.


End file.
